Robert Rorabeck Poems

And what troubles you are these things
That make you real, and hungry- The things that
Can never be fulfilled:
How you looked at her out the window, after
...

Rain looks like whisky falling before
The sunlight,
But the day is almost over and
I’m still out of alcohol- and it hurts to
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The wind lays off its blowing and starts
To clap,
Wipes its mouth when it sees the movie is
Over; it didn’t realize,
...

Cold and almost down deep enough to see,
The sky is a blind woman clothed in shimmering
Rags;
And I am failing her- I can barely breathe,
...

The lights are out and set the mood.
The children are perfect on the green carpet-
Ceiling fans are quiet, as if its in their thing,
But the tinsel on the Christmas tree is
...

With this face I like to pretend
To be an old man with this glass- A nearly
Perfect old man, with this glass
And with his bag of fireworks near the sea:
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I want to sound like a good man,
I would like to be, something dressing down for
Summer,
Conjoining with bodies that are so talented they make
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I love Sylvia Plathe
Even though its been maybe a decade since
I read the Bell Jar,
And they’ve censored all of her poetry after her
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Liquor is the loneliness in the sun,
After you’ve forgotten your name or
How many times you’ve been here-
Hearing the classroom echoing, who reads you
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Robert loves it with his name slipping
Into nothing, and becomes John;
Like a kid in a paper airport with perfect
Teeth,
...